In Your Message Say My Name
by lilacmermaid33
Summary: Mackenzie's name and its evolution, from pre-series through season one. ("When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth.")
1. Chapter 1

Mackenzie McHale has never liked her name.

Introducing herself using her full name together is one thing – it's a good, professional name for the industry she has chosen, and she's always been fond of the alliteration, somehow. But _Mackenzie_ on its own has always chafed like the scratchiest wool on her skin, and she avoids using it whenever possible. She answers to _Mackenzie_ from her parents and _Mac_ from nearly everybody else, but when she has to say it herself, it's always with a weak handshake, her head bowed low, two little flames burning on her cheeks.

She is named after Grandfather and Grandmother MacKenzie. They have no sons to carry on the family name, only one ambitious daughter, and she is quick to ensnare a rising Conservative diplomat. When the McHales learn that they are expecting, it seems like the perfect solution, bestowing her maiden name on their son, and saving it from dying out along with them.

That's all very well, except that a red-faced baby girl makes her impatient entrance into the world instead. Mr. McHale is instantly smitten with his yowling daughter, but Mrs. McHale is less enamored with the squirming bundle in her arms. To curb her disappointment, she forges ahead with the original plan, and Mackenzie Rose McHale is born.

This decision sets Mackenzie up for a childhood rife with embarrassment and misunderstanding.

Every September, without fail, her new teacher pauses halfway through the roll call, reading out _McHale, Mackenzie_, and expecting one of the little boys present to raise his hand. When Mackenzie's hand inches skyward instead, reactions vary from barely concealed amusement to outright disbelief. More than once, she is sent to the principal, accused of disrespect and dishonesty. The end result is always the same: her classmates' laughter ringing in her ears, and Mackenzie sinking lower and lower in her seat, wishing she could just disappear entirely.

It isn't long before _Mac_ became the nickname of choice among Mackenzie's friends, though it really doesn't fit any better, leading to the inevitable jokes about apples and raincoats and computers that never seem to do what she wants them to. It is clipped and abrupt and not at all how Mackenzie sees herself – it is the sound of flip-flops slapping on linoleum, and she is all chiffon and stilettos.

Still, the nickname annoys her mother tremendously, so Mac is more than happy to let it stick. Ultimately, that single syllable is rapid and concise, perfectly suited to the lightning-fast pace of the newsroom she has always known she wants to be a part of. If that speed gives her even the slightest edge, then why not?

Mac rises quickly through the ranks at ACN, especially once she catches the twinkling eye of Charlie Skinner, and he takes her under his wing. She credits him with giving her her big break, producing her first nightly news broadcast, but what he gives her one morning in 2005 is more profound than anything she could ever have imagined.

Mac has no way of knowing that a shakeup is coming to ACN, no way of foreseeing that her current anchor will soon be out of work, and that Charlie has already lined someone up to fill the empty slot.

She has no idea that this is the day that will change her life forever.

"Are you joking?" Mac demands, wide-eyed, when Charlie calls her into his office to break the news. "I've seen him on Fox. He's—"

"He's brilliant," Charlie interrupts. "He's a little green, maybe, a little rough around the edges, but you can manage him. Trust me – between the two of you, we're going to have something really special here."

"Charlie—"

"Mac, the deal's already done, and he's going to be here any second. Give him a chance before you give up on him, will you?"

Mac just has time to shoot one more seriously skeptical glare Charlie's way before the knock on the door, but she shrugs, promising him wordlessly to be polite … for the moment. While Charlie makes the necessary introductions, Mac is already imagining what she will say a week from now, when she marches back into Charlie's office to give him a piece of her mind. Surely a trial run of a week is being more than generous?

"Will, I'd like to introduce you to Mackenzie McHale," Charlie says, his voice cutting through her thoughts. "She's the executive producer for this program."

Will smiles boyishly. "Pleased to meet you, Mackenzie," he says, extending his right hand to shake hers. "Charlie's told me so much about you."

Her name on his lips feels like hot apple cider all over, and this turn of events is so thoroughly unexpected that Mac's heart thuds alarmingly in her chest. "Call me Mac," she replies quietly, her throat suddenly narrow and dry. "Everyone else does."

But Will doesn't, not even once. Every day for almost three years, all she ever hears from him is _Mackenzie_, and that sweet, heady feeling from head to toe never fades in all that time – if anything, it grows stronger. Even as early as this first meeting, every cell in her body whispers insistently that she and Will are inevitable, their fates braided together in the soundest of ropes. She doesn't even think about correcting him again.

It just sounds _right_, her name in his mouth.

Despite the fact that she has a boyfriend, one who summons her most nights at midnight, he is not the one she thinks of now, when she catches herself daydreaming, a girlish smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. It's the way that _Will's_ mouth curls around the vowels and consonants of her name that makes her shiver, makes her smile, makes her heart skip a beat in her chest.

Sometime shortly before Brian walks out of her life, Mac startles herself one morning, answering her Blackberry on autopilot as she does a hundred times a day. "Mackenzie speaking," she says absently, before she catches her own words, and her heart comes to an immediate, shuddering halt. She stands there for a long while, staring in bewilderment at the device in her hand, wondering just how long _that_ has been going on.

When Will finally _does_ ask Mackenzie out on a date, the sound of her name resonates even more keenly, the three syllables sounding like nothing so much as "I. Love. You," every time he murmurs them. She feels like she's adrift in a maelstrom, never able to find her sea legs. Her heart lodges immovably in her throat, and she is physically incapable of explaining why something as simple as the sound of her own name is suddenly so terrifyingly _fast_.

After a year in which her frantic heart never stops racing, never allows her to catch her breath for a moment, Mackenzie learns that Brian is back in town. When he calls, she agrees to see him without a second thought.

She regrets it even before the words are out of her mouth, but midnight still finds her crawling queasily into his bed, silently begging him to cut her name back down to the size she deserves. Each "Mac – Mac – Mac" from him sounds like a stinging slap in the face, and Mac almost welcomes it, because she understands that she is throwing it all away. For the first time all year, her feet are firmly planted on solid, familiar ground, and she can breathe comfortably again, but she longs for nothing more than hurling herself back into the whirlwind that Will has made of her life.

That, she realizes too late, is where she truly belongs.

Nearly a year later, when Mac kneels before Will to make her confession, he gazes down at her blankly, a stranger in his lover's body. He shakes his head as his eyes fill with wordless, incredulous tears, but what hurts the most is the way his lips look like they don't even remember how to form the shape of her name.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:

So, I'm trying a lot of new things in this one, and it's really not turning out anything like I expected when I started. Initially, this was a response to Gina's ficlet challenge. Not so much any more – this chapter alone is about five times that length! It also started out as one of those "5 Times…" fics, and it _kind of_ is, still, but not at all the one that I thought I was going to write. Ultimately, I think I've merged about five different prompts/plotbunnies into this one story!

At first I wanted this to be a very structured 'tell-y' fic with hardly any dialogue (a reverse of the _**show, don't tell**_ rule we've all had drilled into us, just to see what I could come up with). But then I had lots of little metaphors and lines that I wanted to work in, so that mostly went out the window too. Just about the only thing that's stayed the same is that I wanted to try a present tense fic for the first time, and even that was harder than it should have been.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far!


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry, you're Mackenzie!"

Mackenzie ducks her head to conceal a bemused grin as she watches the flustered blonde flutter nervously around her. "I am," she smiles, owning the name easily, with only the smallest painful flutter of her heart.

Her name will forever be linked to Will for Mackenzie, in a way he probably will never comprehend, but the accompanying pang is something she doesn't want to shield herself from, not anymore. It isn't as though he's ever been very far from her thoughts in the last three years to begin with, and the wistful sting makes her feel closer to him, in spite of everything.

When Mackenzie introduces herself these days, it is proudly, with her head held high, but it hasn't always been this way. For months after she leaves New York, the name which has become a second skin during her time with Will catches awkwardly in her throat, like a gulp of seawater going down the wrong way. It has been _Will and Mackenzie_ for so long, that now _Mackenzie_ on its own just sounds unfinished.

Eventually, the rawness of the wound begins to burn a little less, and Mackenzie learns to stop choking on her own name, although the resulting whisper is hardly an improvement. It is a timid, desperate echo of the life she single-handedly shattered.

"I heard you were embedded for a while," Maggie says.

"Twenty-six months," Mackenzie replies wryly. "Anything happen while I was away?"

She can gloss over her time overseas all she wants, but the truth is that it takes the combined forces of Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan to bring Mackenzie properly back to life.

It takes so many things away from them, hardens all of them, seeing what they see out there on a daily basis. Mackenzie more than most, because she goes into it sad and small and already broken. But it also gives her back her backbone.

It is while covering the aftermath of a suicide bombing in Baghdad on what should be their third anniversary that Mackenzie experiences an epiphany.

"This is Mackenzie McHale, reporting from Baghdad," she mumbles when the red light comes on, loathing every tremulous word that falls from her mouth. She allows herself one fleeting second for sentimentality, as she always does when she steps in front of the camera.

I wish I were the woman he thought I was, she yearns longingly.

_But you can be._

Mackenzie's eyes widen perceptibly as the light bulb flares to life above her head, and she takes an involuntary half-step forward before steadying herself.

Will is not hers anymore, she has no claim on his body or his heart, but in her mind's eye she can still see his face. The way the lines around his eyes soften at the anchor desk each time she dons her headset, reassuring him with a whisper that she has him well in hand. Beaming, a swell of pride engulfing him, upon learning that she is being honoured for her work. The delighted gleam in his eye when he discovers that he has finally found someone who can go toe to toe with him in a debate.

Why not be the strong, beautiful, brilliant woman he has seen in her since day one?

Why _not_ be Mackenzie?

Though nobody knows the reason for it, everybody watching sees the change come over Mackenzie during the broadcast. By the end of her report, she is standing that much taller, and when she signs off the air, she is staring down the camera, her gaze confident and unflinching.

This is the day she earns her first Peabody.

Lying awake late that night, Mackenzie gazes up at the crescent moon, and imagines Will doing the same back in New York. For the first time in almost a year, she whispers goodnight to him, halfway around the world, and the guilt doesn't feel ocean-deep and unbearable, ready to drown her without warning where she lies.

A cool breeze picks up, and Mackenzie smiles to herself in the darkness. She can almost hear the wind whispering back to her, in a voice uncannily like Will's. The words wrap themselves around her like a security blanket and carry her off to sleep.

Two years later, that blanket is feeling more than a little torn and threadbare, now she knows Will is making plans to have her on the first available flight back to Washington, and far, far away from interfering with his show. That look on his face when he walks into the newsroom and catches sight of her, it's like he's seeing a very unwelcome ghost.

But Mackenzie hasn't come here with any illusion that the two of them can simply pick up where they left off. She's not even looking for a relationship these days, not with him, not with anyone. All she wants is the job, this job, doing this job with Will the way they both know it should be done.

Only, Mackenzie isn't sure just now that Will knows anything of the sort. His viral, vertigo-induced rallying cry at Northwestern notwithstanding, she has watched him descend further and further into the fray of the media circus, until he appears to be the one leading the pack. Seeing him and his principles unravel on television is one thing, however, and she comes up with dozens of explanations in an attempt to rationalize what her eyes are telling her.

Seeing it in person is another thing altogether, and she can no longer imagine this isn't happening. This man standing before her, this is not her Will, but someone she has never seen before in her life, and she can't quite make out whether his frosty indifference is laziness, arrogance, or something else entirely.

_Is he doing this on purpose?_ she wonders. Could all the ice in the room be an act, an attempt to make her give up and walk away without a fight? Or has _she_ done this, broken him so badly that there's nothing left of the man she loves but this cold, empty shell?

But Mackenzie has never been one to accept defeat so quickly, and she isn't about to begin today. "Will, come on now," she scolds impatiently, suddenly fed up with his childish display.

And that's when it happens. It's like he's just been waiting for her to challenge him, waiting so he can strike back like a venomous rattlesnake. "What do you want from me, Mackenzie?" he demands, shedding the apathetic tone instantly, like skin.

_Oh._

Her name, on his lips, for the first time in three years, and it sounds exactly the same as always, striking like a shot of bittersweet adrenaline to the chest. Mackenzie has never considered, somehow, what this moment might be like, and it unbalances her for just a second. Her mouth dropping open in breathless surprise, her eyes fly up to meet Will's gaze.

He stares back at her, breathing hard. Will has never been able to lie to her with those eyes of his, and this, at least, has not changed. She sees him, really sees him, for the first time in years, and knows in an instant that he has startled even himself with these words. Just for a moment, the shock of it paralyzes him. If there's one thing Will McAvoy hates, it's being caught off guard – he always thinks at least three steps ahead – but he hasn't planned this.

He's backed himself into a corner, making him more dangerous than ever, and Mackenzie can see the moment when this realization dawns. Fear and self-preservation flood his eyes like a tsunami, setting the conditions for the ugly brewing of a perfect storm.

Though she can see it coming from miles away, see him backpedaling so fast he's almost a blur, she is powerless in the face of it, and it still cuts like a vicious knife when he lashes out, his words easily finding their target on her heart.

"Yeah, they f***ed up, Mac, they trusted you!"

It's not the bellowing roar that hurts, nor the fact that he uses a kind of language she has never seen him direct at a woman before, not once in all these years of knowing him.

Though she is bracing herself to weather the hurricane he is unleashing, what stuns her is the single clap of thunder to which he reduces her name, shakes her so much that she has to reach out and steady herself on the edge of his desk.

_It doesn't matter, it's just a name_, Mackenzie tries to tell herself, though her skidding heart knows that it's a lie.

_Of course he's angry_, she reasons. Without her around to rail against until now, this eruption has been three years in the making. He needs to get it all out if there's any hope of them working together again.

Luckily, two years in a war zone has taught Mackenzie how to ride out any number of attacks, though she never expected to be tested in her own newsroom. Breathing deeply, she lets the remaining waves of his ire come crashing down on her until the waters between them are calm once more, and it appears safe to venture an apology.

Unfortunately, Will is far from done, and the initial explosion _isn't_ the worst of it.

He smiles cruelly. "Mackenzie," he says, in a brutal mockery of the tender voice he has always reserved just for her, "I just – You have no idea how I've longed to hear those words. I forgive you, can you forgive—"

Mackenzie's knees almost give way beneath her, but she puts on a brave face and quips something back at him, determined not to flinch, or let the horror and betrayal rise like bile in her throat. Whether he knows it or not, he has chosen his moment well – nothing could have hurt her more than this.

It's almost a relief after that, when Will reverts back to the jarring _Mac_ for the rest of the night. At least this way, if she pretends with all her might, she almost believes that he's just another colleague.

It is weeks before she recalls that Will's first instinct, before deploying every defense mechanism known to man, is still to call her Mackenzie.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thanks so much for reading! I've been sitting on this one for a little while because I wanted it to sound like chapter one does, and it just wouldn't cooperate. I still might revisit this chapter later, but for now, this is probably as good as it's going to get.

I hope you like it … I'm really interested to hear what you think!


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